


Paint Me In a Corner (But My Color Comes Back)

by FreshBrains



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Plotty, Pre Season/Series 03, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Build, Summer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Allison Argent spends the summer discussing the concept of knotting with her best friend, providing the muscle for an all-girl werewolf research team, having amazing sex with a werewolf who is not Scott McCall, and learning how to shake away the guilt that has been eating her alive since last semester.</p><p>She regrets a lot of things, but she doesn't regret that summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bounce Back and Run Some More

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the summer between season 2 and season 3, but I've tried to keep it decently close to canon in theme. The alpha pack isn't a threat in this fic, but Erica and Boyd are still listed as missing, Allison hasn't spoken to Scott since the beginning of summer, and Jackson left town soon after his first shift.

Allison spent the first two weeks of summer rattling around her house—her big house with its big windows and big doors and big empty spaces where it seemed so many people used to be. 

It’s weird, she thought, that she would want to stay inside that godforsaken house in godforsaken Beacon Hills, but at that point, it was the lesser of two evils.

She stayed inside and stared at her cardboard boxes, doodled on them with the nice pens she hadn’t used in months. She rearranged her closet by color, then by style, then by season. 

Allison paced back and forth across the doorway of the guest bedroom where Kate slept, hoping to see an overnight bag peeking out from underneath the bed skirt or catch a whiff of Kate’s warm vanilla perfume she dabbed on the back of neck. 

She made her way across the hall to her parents’ bedroom ( _dad’s bedroom_ , she corrected herself) and sat on the edge of her mother’s side of the bed, fingering the strands of jewelry left on her night table, untouched and forming snakes in the thin layer of dust that has settled over all of her things.

Allison’s second option was to go outside and face the world.

She could take out her old red ten-speed hanging from the garage rafters and bike to the lake, go swimming or at least put her toes in the cool water. She could grab her purse and go to the mall or the diner or the pool or the drug store. She’s sixteen years old and her father is deep in grief and her grandfather could be anywhere—Allison held the epitome of teenage freedom. She could do whatever she wanted to do.

But then she would see people, and if she was super lucky, she would see _them_.

After two weeks of lonely agony, Allison finally called Lydia.

“I think I’m going crazy,” she said into the phone, her voice hoarse, like she hadn’t spoken out loud in weeks.

“You’re not going crazy,” Lydia said briskly. “You’re depressed. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

Allison pulled the phone away, expecting Lydia to hang up, but she heard faintly, “I’m glad you called, Allison.”

*

“Let me tell you everything that has happened since you disappeared,” Lydia said as she strode into Allison’s three-season porch, the cork of her wedge heels thudding solidly against the tile.

“Lydia, I didn’t just disappear, I had to—“

Lydia put a hand up. “Let me finish, seriously. This is what has happened since you disappeared. First of all, Jackson is a werewolf. So are Scott, Vernon Boyd, that kid on the lacrosse team, Erica Reyes, and Derek and Peter Hale. While this was a shocking realization, I soon came to another shocking realization. Can you guess what that realization was?”

Allison grimaced. _I deserve this_. “Everyone else already knew.”

Lydia smiled sweetly. “Correct. Even though I was the zombie puppet of a werewolf for half of my sophomore year, somehow I was the last to know. I’ve also realized that I gave everyone drugged nightmare hallucinations at my birthday party, flirted with a young corpse, and was oblivious to every single horrible thing that happened to me while everyone else sat around and talked about what to do with me like I was some kind of annoying lap dog nipping at everyone’s heels.”

Allison nodded, looking Lydia in the eye. “Sounds about right.”

Lydia went on. “You’re a hunter, right? Like, you hunt werewolves with your dad?”

Allison shrugged. “My father retired and I’m officially out of commission. Besides, the hunters only hunt werewolves who hurt people and Der—the Beacon Hills pack isn’t hurting anyone. Right now, at least.”

“So…what would you do if Jackson was here right now?”

“I wouldn’t do anything. Jackson’s my friend.”

“But he’s a werewolf. I saw him shift once, before he left.” There was a grim edge of sadness in Lydia’s voice and a crinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “He looked like he wanted to eat me alive.”

“But he didn’t. That’s the important part.” Allison knew the look Lydia was talking about—the blatant hunger of glowing blue eyes, the saliva-slick kisses, the roaming hands drifting into claws against bare thighs.

“But he could, if he wanted to.”

Allison sighed. “Lydia, are you asking me if Jackson is dangerous? I’m sure Derek gave him the go-around. He won’t hurt anybody, wherever he is.”

Lydia gave her a pointed look. “No. I’m asking you if you’re dangerous.”

Allison felt like she had been slapped. She realized they were talking about the werewolves in terms of the way Lydia saw Jackson and Peter. No wonder she thought everyone involved was a savage—she had no idea what their limits were. Peter reincarnated himself through her, for God’s sake. 

“I’m just a hunter, Lydia. I don’t shift into a puma or something. I use a bow and arrows, and blades, and bullets. Or at least, I did. But I’m not dangerous.”

_To you, at least,_ Allison thought as she carefully watched Lydia’s face for some hint of relief.

Lydia was quiet for a moment. “Can you protect us if something happened? You know…with Jackson?” Lydia avoided Allison’s gaze.

“Or maybe with Peter?” Allison knew she shouldn’t have said his name as Lydia winced, a small tremor running through her entire body. But she needed Lydia to know that she knew everything. There were no secrets between them, no more lies.

“Yeah, Allison. With Peter.” Lydia let out a deep, shaky exhale.

Allison didn’t have to hesitate before saying, “Nobody is going to hurt you anymore, Lydia. I’ll make sure of it.”

Then they hugged, quick but tight, humming into each other’s ears, not able to get close enough to each other. After pulling away, Allison giggled awkwardly before asking, “So what’ve you been up to this summer?”

Lydia shrugged. “Not much. I’m trying the vegan thing.”

Allison nodded. “Nice.”

*

After calling Lydia, Allison felt some of that heavy loneliness loosen in her chest, and she realized that she is starting to thaw.

They spent all of June doing absolutely nothing, and it was amazing.

They drove to the nature reserve in the next city every day and walked around lazily in sundresses and denim shorts, talking about everything while letting the sun brown their shoulders. They let go of the pretense that there are taboo topics or off-limit subjects and just _talked,_ freely and openly.

Allison talked about her guilt. She mentions Boyd and the arrows, Erica and the poison that had her paralyzed on the floor, Isaac and the knives. She tells Lydia about her plan to kill Derek and how it kept her awake at night, even after she knew he was alive and still living in that burned mansion in the woods. She tells her about the shame she felt after abusing her power as a huntress, leading her father blindly and letting her corrupt grandfather end her career before it even started.

Allison talked about Scott, but no more than she talked about anything else. They ended things neatly, a solid break-up that gave them both space to heal. There was no confusion of who did what or who would be the first to call who. There were a separate entity and Allison always spoke about him in the past tense, no matter how much it ached.

Lydia, in contrast, spoke freely about werewolves and mythology while avoiding the topic of two very specific werewolves. She rambled on with lists of facts and statistics that never occurred to Allison. Allison learned that twenty-five percent of hereditary werewolves were born on Christmas Day. She learned that ten percent of humans could become a werewolf by drinking from the footprint of an alpha werewolf, but that Lydia would only feel comfortable accepting that as fact with a few more sources. She learned the average length of canine teeth, the average age a hereditary werewolf starts to shift, the angle in which a werewolf needs to plant their legs in order to jump the highest. Lydia was practically a werewolf expert, and she only knew of their existence for less than a month.

But they also gossiped. They talked about the dreams they had the night before. They shared embarrassing stories and elementary school crushes, first kiss anecdotes and dirty sexual fantasies that have them practically crying with laughter. Allison learns that Lydia likes romance movies and documentaries, she’ll read anything she can find for free on her e-reader, and her favorite food is rum cherry ice cream.

As they spend day after day just being two regular teenage girls, Allison starts to remember what it feels like to live in a world without constant danger.

One afternoon in the woods, Allison flopped down in a bed of dried pine needles, leaving three arrows stuck in the ground around a tree where Lydia had painted three small targets with an old tube of pale pink lipstick. Even if she wasn’t a hunter anymore, officially, she was still an archer.

Allison called up to Lydia, who sat on a low tree branch with a paperback book, her white sundress billowing around her legs like a tulip, “What have you been reading this whole time anyways?”

Lydia peered down, red hair haloing her face. “Oh, just this trashy romance series I found on Amazon. It’s about werewolves, but it’s wildly inaccurate.”

“How so?”

“For one thing, they all turn into full wolves, not just the alphas. Fuzzy, four-pawed, wet-nosed wolves.”

“Sounds cuddly,” Allison commented. She remembers liking the extra hair on Scott’s face; she loved running the backs of her hands down the coarse fur to calm him down.

“Also, they can be born as alphas or betas, and there are no such thing as omegas,” Lydia said, pensive. She often wondered about how Jackson was doing as an omega.

“What else?”

Lydia gave her a devilish smile. “Well, here’s the kicker. It’s kind of a romance book, but it can get pretty nasty. These werewolves…when they get worked up with their true loves, the base of their dick…”Lydia giggles like a twelve-year-old. “It basically swells up full of semen.”

Allison wrinkled her nose. “Like, how big?”

Lydia balled her hand into a fist and raised her eyebrows.

Allison let out a low whistle. “Good lord. At least we know that one’s total fiction.”

“I don’t know how we’d miss it,” Lydia snorted.

“I don't think we'd be able to walk anymore” Allison said, and for whatever reason, that was what set them off into hysterics, laughing until they couldn't see straight, until the only thing that existed was that afternoon in the woods, just the two of them.

Allison was learning how to enjoy the little things.


	2. Can't Look You In the Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek, Boyd, and Erica are easy, but others are tricky.

As Allison walked downtown in the mid-afternoon, the sun shone high and hot in the sky. She slid her sunglasses down over her eyes and saw, plastered neatly on the store front window for the take-out pizza place, two Missing Child posters.

It were those kind of reminders that made Allison stop and start thinking about all the people she hurt before she, like Lydia said, disappeared.

Erica Reyes was on the left, her photo obviously from her pre-werewolf days. She wasn’t smiling. Her hair was a rat’s nest. But she wore a nice leather jacket. Allison could tell, from that photograph alone, that so much of who Erica was before transferred to who she became after the bite. 

Boyd was on the right. Allison never knew him well, but she didn’t know anyone from Beacon Hills very well except for Scott and Lydia (for a brief time, Jackson, and for a thankfully _very_ brief time, Matt Daehler). She knew Stiles decently well, and she liked Jackson’s best friend Danny, but she only knew Erica and Boyd after they became potential enemies.

And, like a fire that started at her toes and licked it’s was slowly up to her brain, thinking about Erica and Boyd made Allison think about Derek.

Allison still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that she had made the decision one evening to pull on her boots, collect her arrows, and lock the garage door before going out to kill a man in cold blood. She decided to be a murderer. She was so _ready_ , the fresh pain of missing her mother making her woozy with adrenaline, making her hungry for the sight of Derek’s blood dripping from her arrows.

But the thing that made her feel the worst was the memory of her own beautiful, powerful aunt Kate stringing the beautiful, powerful Derek up and torturing him, taunting him, revealing that he’d loved her and she did it all to destroy him. She destroyed _everything_ , she killed Derek’s family, his aunts and uncles, his parents, all of the children and babies. She was the real monster, and Allison—Allison was no different. She destroyed people, just like Kate.

Derek, Boyd, and Erica are easy, but others are tricky.

Isaac seemed alarmingly neutral towards her, even giving her a smile when he saw her at the gas station one night (she, on the other hand, practically had a panic attack). Allison attributed most of that to his achingly sweet, slightly passive nature that seemed to stem from something much lighter than a history of abuse from his father. Scott always told her that Isaac smelled different than the others wolves—there was something clean and cloying about him, something untouched and gentle as a lamb. 

Scott was never embarrassed about admitting those kinds of things to Allison—he had a bond with Isaac that surpassed friendship and arrowed in on brotherhood. He once said, his eyes a little dazed and his face mystified, that Isaac’s full-moon wolf smelled like what he believed an angel would smell like.

But that didn’t change the fact that Allison maliciously injured an abuse victim. Isaac was tough, he was resilient, he gave as much as he got when it came to fighting. But it was still shameful for her, and she wanted to apologize when she saw him, but it just wouldn’t come out.

Stiles still smiled and said hello whenever he saw her coming out of the grocery store or pharmacy, half a Twix or a hunk of Twinkie hanging out of his mouth, but Allison could see the hesitance in the way he carefully lifted his arm in greeting. His loyalties laid one-hundred percent with Scott, and Allison would never put their friendship in jeopardy. But she always liked Stiles, and she missed him. 

And then there was Scott. There would _always_ be Scott. He was the one who sent little invisible flames licking up at her neck and ears, burning her with anger and sadness and shame, charring away little bits of her mind until she went insane with the heat.

His name, one syllable, crisp and neat, clicked against Allison’s heart and tapped away every minute of every day. God, she missed him.

Allison didn’t know how to deal with the feelings she still had towards Scott. She was the one who broke up with him, after all. She could always confide in him and she still felt the hollow ache of grief for her mother, and all she wanted was to curl up in somebody’s arms and cry into their chest, and she wanted _Scott_. He was always so safe. She knew what kind of power he held; if he wanted to, he could tear her to shreds; he could rip her limb from limb. But she never feared him, not once. 

He was one of the best things that ever happened to her, and she paid a hefty fine for it.

Allison was used to looking over her shoulder before facing Beacon Hills. She wasn’t looking for forgiveness, but she owned up to her mistakes, and that meant not showing her face to people who didn’t want to see it. 

But in the end, Erica and Boyd were still missing. And that was worse than the guilt she dreaded if she ever had to face them again.

A small part of Allison wanted to look for them. She knew that with her hunting and tracking skills and Lydia’s cleverness, they could do it. If they tried, they could do it. Allison wanted so badly to prove herself to someone, to redeem herself. She wanted to show how strong she was without hurting people. 

She wanted to _win_.

But every time she saw those posters, she glanced at the pictures and just kept walking.

She vowed that one day she would stop and take a moment to remember them as classmates—not enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter titled came from "Volcano Girls" by Veruca Salt, this one comes from "Miss World" by Hole. The fic title comes from "Black Sheep" by Gin Wigmore. Angry lady artists, hooray!


	3. That Girl, She Holds Her Head Up So High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So much for letting the heroine be the heroine.”

“Don’t read that one,” said a voice from the armchair at the end of the bookshelves at Beacon Hills Public Library.

Allison recognized the soft, careful voice of the girl she talked to a few times in gym class. She recognized the pleading tone to it, a voice that wanted to be a lion but came out as a kitten.

With a brief flash of heat running down her spine, Allison took three steps down the aisle and saw Erica Reyes curled up in a worn maroon armchair, a ratty _Tank Girl_ comic book open in her lap.

Allison felt like she’d seen a ghost, in more ways than one. For starters, she, along with most of Beacon Hills, believed that Erica was dead, what with the whole “first twenty-four hours” rule and all. But Erica also had the sick, transparent pallor of a ghost. She looked like she had been locked in a dark room for days and the sun was too much to handle.

Erica turned ninety degrees in her chair so she could face Allison. She gave Allison a small smile, a smile that had no bite and no malice. “That isn't a very good book. You think the main character, this warrior princess type, will become queen in the end, but…”

“The knight ends up slaying the dragon and becoming her king,” Allison finished, her voice a mixture of shock, confusion, and stark agreement. She’d read the book when she was thirteen and the resolution left her depressed for weeks.

Erica nodded. “So much for letting the heroine be the heroine.”

Erica was a beautiful girl; she was beautiful before she was turned and even more so afterwards. But Allison immediately noticed that she looked absolutely exhausted; she had dark bags underneath her eyes and her blond hair was pulled back into a messy knot. The studs in her left ear looked red and infected despite her quick healing.

Allison hesitated before whispering in a rushed hiss, “Erica, you've been missing for _three weeks_! Where the hell have you been?”

Erica rolled her eyes and motioned for Allison to come closer. Allison dropped the book back onto the shelf and sat in the armchair across from Erica, crossing her legs.

“I just got back into town. It was a long drive. Look, I know we’re not besties or anything, but I really need to ask you why Lydia Martin is spending so much time reading books about the Hale family.” Erica rubbed her eyes with the back of her wrist and yawned.

Allison bristled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Allison’s Tuesday and Thursday afternoon activity with Lydia was visiting the library and combing through the ancient tomes of newspaper articles about Beacon Hills. Lydia was still struck with the urge to become Werewolf Guru Extraordinaire (“For Jackson,” she’d say, avoiding eye contact), so she forced Allison to devote a set amount of hours per week on wolf-related research. Allison ended up browsing the fantasy novels while Lydia asked for the backroom keys so she could look up the books on Beacon Hills prior to the 1950’s.

Erica shrugged. “It just seems odd to me. A little suspicious, even.”

Allison didn't know how to react. She was still wondering why Erica was at the library, if her parents knew she was back, if _Derek_ knew she was back, and why she looked like she had the world’s worst case of the flu. 

But first and foremost, she was struck with the need to protect her best friend at any cost. “Erica, I need to know Lydia won’t get into any trouble with the pack. You have to remember her ex-boyfriend is a werewolf who does not belong to your pack. She has every right to information.” 

Allison thought about Lydia, beautiful Lydia and her surprisingly witty jokes and her huge collection of patent-leather platform pumps and her affinity for pink roses, and saw her fingers and toes sprayed across a field of yellow grass, her blood dripping down Peter Hale’s chin, her breasts and stomach scattered with pansy-like bruises and her pink mouth opened in a silenced scream for help.

Erica suddenly prickled in alarm, growling gently. She whispered, “What, what’s going on? Is there someone in here?” Her eyes glowed, but only faintly as she glanced around the silent library.

Allison shook her head, confused. “No, why, can you sense something?”

Erica’s face reddened a little and her eyes shifted back to light brown. “You smelled like fear all of a sudden. You smelled so sad. I thought…” Erica looked up into Allison’s eyes, her own face incredibly sad and so tired. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Allison. I’m not going to attack you in the library.”

“Wouldn't be the first time,” Allison commented dryly. “Erica, why are you here? Where have you been?”

Erica sighed and sank deeper into the chair, like a little girl being scolded. “I’m back now, so what does it matter?”

“Does Derek know?”

“Yes, he knows. I went to him first.”

“What about your parents?”

“They know, too. But that’s all. The pack doesn't know, and the police don’t, either, so don’t go blabbing your mouth all over town.” Erica scoffed, her face twisting into an ugly smirk. “Besides, it’s not like anyone really missed me.”

Allison felt like stone for a moment, like complete trash. She wondered why Erica wasn't ripping her throat out for what she did to her, to her pack. 

Erica didn't say anything else, but Allison could tell she sensed her discomfort and possibly her guilt, and she seemed distracted and fidgety despite her obvious exhaustion. She bit at her pinky nail and tucked her feet underneath her body on the armchair, curling into herself like a child. “You know, I don’t blame you for what you did. To me and Boyd, at least. I know what that kind of anger feels like.”

Allison swallowed heavily, tears threatening to prick her eyes. “It was horrible. How are you not disgusted by me?”

Much to Allison’s surprise, Erica laughed. “I’m a werewolf, Allison. I grow sideburns and fangs and gigantic yellow claws when I get angry. I _howl_ at people. I’m not even human anymore. Anger is disgusting and it makes you do disgusting things. But you’re not disgusting.” After a moment, Erica continued, soft and caring, “Your mother died. You were allowed to be angry and hurt.”

Allison wiped her eyes quickly and stood up. “I doubt Derek would feel the same way. But thanks, I guess.”

Erica straightened in her chair, realizing their moment of tenderness had passed. “I’m not here to spy or to cause trouble, honestly. A lot of shit has been going down since you disappeared. Derek is keeping tabs on Lydia because he’s worried about Jackson, that’s all.”

“What shit has gone down?” Allison slowly sank back into her chair, her urge to flee dissipating.

Erica looked down. “Derek wants me to keep it in the pack for now. He’s just really on edge about Jackson not being here. He still…he still feels a connection to him and it hurts. He wants to keep everyone safe right now.” 

Allison heard what went unsaid— _Derek wants to keep everyone safe because he couldn't keep me safe_.

“Lydia went through hell last year. She has a right to know what happened to her. That’s why she’s doing so much research. I’d rather not have anything to do with it, but she’s my best friend and I’m helping her.”

Erica nodded. “Stiles has been doing a lot of research, too. But I don’t know what they’re looking for.”

“This is all way out of my league. I’m just doing what I can to protect the people I know don’t hate me.”

Erica stood up and stretched, her spine cracking. “You’d be surprised, Allison. Nobody hates you.” She grabbed her messenger bag, stuffed full of fantasy novels and tattered comic books, and swung it easily over her shoulder. “They just fear you. They know what you’re capable of now.”

Allison was left stunned. 

_They fear me. All this time, I was the cat and they were the mice_.

As Allison watched Lydia trot out the backroom with an armload of leather-bound texts, Allison thought about something else Erica said.

_I’m not even human anymore_.

Allison knew exactly how Erica felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from "Rebel Girl" by Bikini Kill. I knew I had to incorporate it somehow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At heart, Allison would always be a hunter; it was in her blood. She was used to scenting the wind, pressing her fingers to the dirt and taking a taste, getting close to the stink and the grime. It only took her three seconds to catch the smell wafting off of the warm pulse of the woman’s wrist—fresh moss, ash tree bark, and clean fur, a mixture of scents that only spelled out one thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An original character is introduced in this chapter. I know I tagged it, but some people just aren't fond of oc's and would rather read something else. Although she is important to the plot, this fic remains centered on _Teen Wolf_ characters and the oc plays a small role. Don't fret!

“Is someone having a party?” Allison heard a voice from down the aisle. She pulled her hand back from the shelf and looked at the woman who was standing in front of the rack of magazines.

Allison didn't recognize her—she looked to be in her mid-30’s with soft blonde hair pulled into a clip, dressed in a blouse and cardigan. She looked like someone who came from a long day at the office, but Allison quickly noticed she wore white running shoes and had insane calf and arm muscles underneath her prim clothing.

Allison shrugged. “Just stocking up for a sleepover. My best friend put me on snack duty.”

The woman nodded after a long pause, giving Allison a cursory once-over, something that sent little sparks of displeasure down Allison’s back. Allison nodded back, gave her a polite smile and walked quickly down the aisle.

“That’s a fantastic jacket, sweetheart,” the woman called, and Allison whipped around.

“What?” She looked down at the jacket she threw on before she left Lydia’s house and realized she wore a grey and white Adidas hoodie, warm and smelling heavily of cologne and teenage boy and undoubtedly something else.

It was Jackson’s hoodie, a remnant of all of his overnights stays at Lydia’s house.

Alarm bells started sounding loud in Allison’s head.

The woman laughed, easy and musical, striding towards Allison, soundless in her tennis shoes. “I said that’s a fantastic jacket. It doesn't really suit you, though.” She leaned in close enough to pinch the grey fabric between her fingers and straighten the collar around Allison’s neck. “I’m guessing it belongs to a special boy?”

At heart, Allison would always be a hunter; it was in her blood. She was used to scenting the wind, pressing her fingers to the dirt and taking a taste, getting close to the stink and the grime. It only took her three seconds to catch the smell wafting off of the warm pulse of the woman’s wrist—fresh moss, ash tree bark, and clean fur, a mixture of scents that only spelled out one thing.

_She’s a werewolf_.

Even though her mind was screaming for her to trust her instincts and flee, Allison swallowed heavily, willing her heart to thrum steady. The woman wasn't from Beacon Hills; Allison would either know her or know of her, besides, Derek seemed dead-set on biting half of the teenage loner population rather than middle-aged customers of Ann Taylor Loft.

“Uh…yeah, no, this is my…my brother’s jacket. He lent it to me.” Allison knew instantly the woman didn't buy it by the amused arch of her eyebrows. 

“He’s not your brother,” the woman said, her voice low and quiet. The fluorescent lights overhead sent a mysterious pall across her features. “You want to tell me the truth?” Her eyes flashed—alpha red.

_She wants Jackson_ , Allison thought. _She’s not looking to make new betas, then. She’s here for him. Why_? Her stomach dropped as she realized she was wearing Lydia’s tank top. _She can track Lydia, too_. “I’m not telling you shit,” she hissed.

So Allison stood tall against the alpha woman. A human hunter whose relationship with werewolves was wobbly at best and murderous at worst, who had experienced both the gentle nip of Scott’s teeth against her bottom lip and the rush of adrenaline after unloading a quiver of arrows into Boyd’s knees and torso. 

Allison was done defining her relationship with werewolves by the Beacon Hills pack alone—it was obvious that she was going to have these run-ins and stand-offs for the rest of her life, no matter where she went, no matter who she chose to hang out with. 

The alpha woman only smiled wider and tugged the zipper of Jackson’s hoodie closed over Allison’s cleavage, letting a long half-shifted fingernail graze against the curve of her breast. “I thought as much. Whoever this jacket belongs to, tell him Anna Conliffe is looking for him.”

“You won’t find him here. He’s gone,” Allison said, standing her ground.

Anna laughed. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ll see about that.”

She was gone before Allison could form a reply.

*

“Do you know Anna Conliffe?” Allison slammed the screen door open so hard it clattered against the wall and nearly bounced back to smack her in the nose. She was out of breath from biking home and for whatever reason she had yanked off Jackson’s jacket, balled it in her fist, and shook it at Lydia like it was a vial of holy water.

Lydia stared at her with wide, confused eyes. “Who?”

“Anna Conliffe! Do you know her?” Allison asked again.

“Never heard of her. Is that Jackson’s hoodie?” Lydia got up from the couch, brushing pita chip crumbs off her tank top. She went to grab for the offending article, but Allison held it just out of her reach.

“She’ll be here soon. She’ll track it here, so I’d prepare for the worst,” Allison said, immediately shutting the door and locking it before she checked all the living room windows.

“What the hell is going on?” Lydia asked. “And where are my Doritos?” She planted her hands on her hips.

“There’s an alpha in town. A new one. I’m almost positive she doesn't know Derek, either.” Allison dug around in Lydia’s kitchen, grabbing a black-handled steak knife. She threw one towards Lydia, who shrieked and ducked. 

“Allison! I don’t have crazy wolf hunter reflexes, remember!” Lydia was being dramatic as usual, huffing a lock of hair out of her eyes, but Allison could tell the gears in her head were already churning. “Now tell me about the alpha. I’m very interested in them right now.”

That was one of the many moments during the summer when Allison felt a deep tug of fond tenderness towards her best friend. Lydia tried so hard to be average—to strive for good looks and a hot, popular boyfriend, all while being placid and icy enough to please the masses at Beacon Hills High School. Allison understood; all teenage girls want to be liked, they all want to fit in. But Lydia could never keep up the façade for very long. She was too curious about the world. She was too good at solving everyone’s problems.

“She seemed to want Jackson. She definitely smelled him on his jacket. But she might have just smelled the werewolf on it in general.”

Lydia nodded. “Well, there are four packs in this county and sixteen in northern California alone, but most of them are families who only give the bite after marriages. They’re non-violent and they don’t really travel out of their hometowns, so I doubt they’d want Jackson for anything.”

“We do attract a lot of drama. Maybe someone caught wind of the kanima situation and they want to study him or something.”

Lydia waved off the suggestion like a princess dismissing her court. It didn't make sense to her, and Allison didn't question Lydia when her gears were churning like that.

Allison shrugged. “Maybe they want to marry him off to someone. Maybe their alpha is ineffective or something and they can’t make new betas.” She thought for a moment. “Is there such a thing as a defective alpha?”

Lydia shrugged. “I’m sure it isn't unheard of.”

“If they wanted a larger pack but couldn’t change humans anymore, they might look for weak betas or omegas to bring into their pack.”

Lydia looked anxious. “I've looked into a lot of these packs. After the whole thing with Jackson’s transformation…” she trailed off a bit. “I just wanted to see what else was out there in case he needed help outside of Beacon Hills. A lot of these packs are insanely tight-knit. Many of them inbreed and most of them only accept new members by their alpha’s bite.”

“So an alpha has traveled from a distance to Beacon Hills and is interested in a newly-changed beta wolf…but why?” Allison wondered out loud.

Lydia frowned. “Whatever is going on, we should probably let Derek know.”

Allison tensed. It made sense, but her plan for the summer was going to shit right before her eyes—she wanted to paint her nails on Lydia’s bed and run through the sprinklers on the front lawn; she wanted late-night movies and relaxation and deep sleep.

She wasn't ready to face Derek Hale. Not yet. She wasn't strong enough yet.

Lydia gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “We’ll sleep on it. If she comes alone tonight, we’ll deal with it. I trust you. We can figure the rest out tomorrow.”

Allison nodded.

After standing in an awkward circle holding knives for a quiet moment, Lydia asked again, “So, is that a no on the Doritos?”

“I don’t think Doritos are vegan,” Allison said.

“Fuck that,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes and flopping onto the couch.


	5. No One Sleeps When I'm Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Erica shut her eyes tight. “Oh my god. I knew it.”_
> 
> _Allison hurried up the porch stairs. “Erica, who is she?”_
> 
> _Erica’s eyes filled with tears. “I ran from her. She’s after me.”_

Allison stayed awake the entire night, curled up with her laptop on the living room floor while Lydia slept on the couch. She opened up her Netflix account and tried to watch her old favorite shows, the ones about vampires and magic and dark energies, but not even she could handle the biting irony. She tried Polyvore and Facebook and anything else that would keep her awake and unafraid, but all she wanted to do was run to Erica’s house and tell her about Anna Conliffe.

Erica was her only line to the Beacon Hills pack; she was her only connection after last semester. And technically, she was still a missing person.

As the sun started to barely peek out from behind the misty morning fog, Allison finally summoned the nerve to type “Anna Conliffe” into Google. It gave her the creeps—she felt like it would only lead her down a bad road. She was trying to do things on her own again, and she knew better than anyone else that it would only be her downfall.

But instead, the name yielded no results, no matter how Allison spelled it. Nothing. No news reports, no Facebook page. Allison slammed her laptop shut with a frustrated growl, only to open it three seconds later and write an e-mail to Erica.

_Erica,_

_There’s an alpha in town and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know Derek. I don’t know if she’s dangerous or not. Do you know if we should be concerned?_

_Allison_

Allison heard Lydia snuffling out of sleep on the couch. She waited for Erica’s response, which arrived only seconds later.

_A,_

_Come over to my house at noon._

_E_

Allison arrived at quarter past nine after telling a sleepy Lydia she was going out to buy donuts (which she had to remember on the way back).

Erica lived on Wayne Street, which was close to Stiles’ house across town from Lydia’s family’s mansion. It was a comfortable-looking two-story brick bungalow with white shutters and a faded white picket fence, gardenias blooming in the window boxes. A stake and a leash in the lawn told Allison that Erica had a dog, and a child-sized bicycle meant she had a little sibling or two. The garage door was open and empty—Erica was probably home alone.

Erica was opening the door before Allison even stepped foot onto the whitewashed front porch. Her face was pale and grim.

“We need to talk,” she blurted, wringing her hands.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Allison admitted, taking in Erica’s pajama pants and tank top that revealed angry, shallow claw marks all the way do to her wrists. “You look like you've been through a blender.”

Erica took a deep breath. “The alpha…did you get her name?”

“Yeah, it was Conliffe. Anna Conliffe.”

Erica shut her eyes tight. “Oh my god. I knew it.”

Allison hurried up the porch stairs. “Erica, who is she?”

Erica’s eyes filled with tears. “I ran from her. She’s after me.”

“God, why?”

Erica took another deep breath. “You better come inside. I have to show you something.”

Erica’s house smelled clean and spicy, like she had a parent who liked to cook big meals for dinner every night. She led Allison down a hallway covered in framed pictures of Erica and two younger girls, one blonde like Erica and the other with glossy black curls, along with two smiling parents with graying dark hair. 

“I just got back from San Francisco last week,” Erica said as she opened her bedroom door. “I brought something home with me.”

Erica’s bedroom looked so different from Allison’s own—it was the bedroom of a girl who had lived in the same well-worn space her entire life. Her walls were pale pink and lined with shelves full of graphic novels, hardcover books, and DVDs. Her unmade bed was littered with discarded outfits and a basket of pale yellow yarn and knitting needles sat next to her headboard. A green glass lamp lit up her small oak desk that was scattered with wire, beads, and bits of origami paper.

Allison wondered if her parents touched the room while Erica was missing.

“Why were you in San Francisco?”

Erica knelt on her floor in front of her closet and pulled a small metal box out from behind her rack of shoes. Allison sat down next to her.

“It’s a long story. But Conliffe is coming to Beacon Hills for a reason. And this might be it.”

Erica opened up the box, releasing a sickly-sweet floral scent into the room. She pulled out an object wrapped in layers of butcher paper. “I would pull your shirt up over your nose. This can get pretty strong.”

Allison did as she was told and noticed Erica was holding her breath. Erica unwrapped the package, revealing a small white bundle.

Allison raised her eyebrows. “Is that a joint?”

Erica laughed. “No, but you’re close.” 

With careful fingers, Erica twisted apart the white paper wrapping. A thin, sticky oil was spread inside the paper, along with twisted, decaying petals of purple and green flowers. Allison could smell them through the cotton of her shirt.

“This,” Erica said with a sigh, “is lycanite.”

“What is it used for?” Allison asked, taking the package from Erica. It left the same faint blue gloss on her fingertips, leaving a slight tingling sensation behind. 

“It’s a drug. They told me it was like smoking weed, but it isn't. Not by a long shot.”

“Lycanite,” Allison whispered to herself. _A werewolf drug?_. “What are the effects?” 

Allison carefully uncovered her nose and dabbed her finger in the oil. It was so strong—like crushed flowers and vintage perfume and something long dead. It made Allison’s head ache.

“It’s insane. Like nothing I've ever done before. Anna said it was the most powerful thing I’d ever experience. She created it. It took her fifteen years to master it, but she said it was finally perfect.”

Allison was stunned. “Erica, who is this woman? And why did you go to San Francisco to see her?” Erica didn't seem like the type of person to chase after drugs, especially since she hated the way all of her past medications made her feel. Allison remembered how Scott said Erica rarely even drank.

Erica sat back and folded her legs like a pretzel. “Allison, I already told you. A lot of shit has gone down since you and Scott broke up.” She looked so ashamed as she murmured, “You’re not the only one who wanted to disappear, you know.”

Allison was struck with a realization. “You left the pack on purpose.”

Erica nodded. “Boyd and I both left. After you…your dad, whoever…let us go, we just kept running. Boyd wanted to go back, but I didn't want to face Derek again. I just had this weird feeling…like an ache in my chest that made me want to cry so hard…”

“Abandonment,” Allison said. God, she knew that feeling.

“I’m not as good as Boyd and Isaac at sensing Derek’s feelings. I confuse anger with adrenaline and hunger with pain. Boyd kept telling me that Derek would save us, but I just had this feeling that he was done with us. I don’t know why.”

“Derek was coming for you, Erica. He feared for you.”

“That was what I sensed. He was afraid. And it was unfamiliar, and it hurt, so I just chalked it up to him hating us.”

Allison took the tiny bundle and wrapped it back in the brown paper. “So you and Boyd ran away to San Francisco…and what? Joined a new pack with a drug dealer for an alpha?”

Erica frowned, her defenses up. “Anna Conliffe is an amazing woman. She’s a brilliant scientist and she isn't trying to hurt anyone, really. Lycanite isn't dangerous. But it is getting popular. She and her partner…”

Allison raised her eyebrows. “She has a partner?”

Erica nodded. “His name is Kessler. He’s an alpha, too.”

“Is he involved with lycanite?”

“He sells it. Shops it around. I don’t think any of us knew this, but there are a lot of packs in the US alone. Like, hundreds, all around the country. And Anna and Kessler have met a lot of them. They’re practically famous in the werewolf community.”

Allison couldn't help but giggle. “I had no clue there even was a werewolf community.” 

Erica let a small smile sneak past her lips before catching herself. “You’d be surprised. Derek and his family lived off the grid and a lot of the packs that live in the woods and the canyons are very private. You don’t really think there are packs from New York City, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Minneapolis, but there are. And they’re pretty powerful.”

Allison had to admit she’d never given it much thought. Beacon Hills already seemed so big with Derek’s pack; she could hardly imagine huge packs living in lofts and mansions in big, busy cities all over the world. “So where do you factor in?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you sell this drug now? Does Derek know?”

“I don’t have anything to do with lycanite besides trying it a few times. And I told Derek everything. I trust him.”

Allison sat back on her heels, taking in everything Erica told her. “This is why he’s worried about Lydia and Jackson. He thinks Jackson is weak and will get involved with Conliffe and that Lydia is somehow involved.”

“Jackson wants someone to love him, and Anna and Kessler would love him to death if it meant making her pack stronger.”

After a long silence Allison asked, “Why did you come back?”

Erica looked out her bedroom window at the sky. It looked like rain, and a soft metallic breeze floated through room, signaling an oncoming storm. “I sensed that he missed me. And my loyalties lie with him.”

Allison didn't have to ask who _he_ was. “And I’m guessing Conliffe didn't take it too well.”

“You see, that’s the thing. She welcomed Boyd and me into the pack with open arms. But when I said I needed to go back home, she didn't seem shocked. And Kessler seemed almost happy. I don’t really trust him.”

Allison could tell Erica was still holding something back. “Erica, where is Boyd?”

She didn't answer right away. Her lower lip trembled slightly when she finally said, in a whisper, “He stayed. He stayed with his new pack.”

Allison wasn't a werewolf, but her sense of smell as a hunter was strong. And the acid that poured off Erica’s skin, the bitterness—it was all pain. She came back to Beacon Hills with a broken heart.

“Why do you think Anna Conliffe is here? Is it for you, or for lycanite?”

Erica shrugged, still curled in on herself. “Could be both. She might want to talk to Derek about Boyd. But I know she has an agenda. Her first priority is making money and making her pack larger.”

“And lycanite will certainly help,” Allison said, the sweet scent still hanging in the air. “How many betas does she have?”

“Three, but she only bit two herself. One girl, Jenny, who is a year younger than us and one boy, Alex, who is nineteen or twenty. Kessler’s younger brother Shane is a beta, too.”

“I thought she’d have a bigger pack,” Allison mused. “There should be plenty of people lining up to be in an alpha drug lord’s pack.”

The sound of the garage door opening from across the house snapped both girls out of their thoughts, and they stood up. 

“My dad is home. Unless you want a lot of questions about your father’s job or what kind of car he drives, you should probably head out.” Erica tucked the box back into her closet and shut the door tight. “He’s pretty protective over me right now. I don’t blame him, I guess.”

Before she left, Allison gave Erica a small squeeze on the arm, gentle enough not to alarm her. “Thanks for telling me this, Erica. I just want to keep Lydia safe. And I know you want the same.”

Erica nodded, her face unreadable. “I’ll e-mail you the rest of the details. I know I can trust you to be discreet.”

Allison walked back to Lydia’s house, pausing the lean over and smell the jasmine growing along the sidewalk. But all she could smell was the sugar-floral scent of lycanite still clinging to her hair and skin, and it sent a shiver across her entire body.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and Allison ran the rest of the way.

*

“So what’s the plan today? Are we talking to Derek?” Lydia was still wearing her silky pajamas when Allison got back, her hair woven into a messy braid.

Allison shook her head, crafting a quick lie. “Um, it can wait. I think I've taken care of it for the time being.”

Lydia looked surprised as she yawned, not conscious enough to goad Allison into saying more. “Oh, okay, I guess. Hey, where are the donuts?”

Fuck. “I totally forgot, sorry.”

Lydia groaned. “I’m not trusting you with food errands anymore. No more food errands! Now go make me French toast!” 

She shuffled away in her cumbersome fluffy slippers and Allison didn't even try to stifle her laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song of the same name by The Sounds. Next chapter will be brief, but I've got some longer ones coming up.


	6. And The Stalks Begin to Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Come in for the kill, Artemis,” she giggles, her eyes inviting and her teeth strong and white, showing no hint of pointed fang._

Allison slept over at Lydia’s that night, sharing her big king-sized bed, drifting off in a mountain of sweet-smelling down blankets and pillows.

For the first time in a month, she dreamed.

_Chris Argent sits on a big whitewashed porch in front of a beautiful old farmhouse painted a blaring bloody red. His face is stern but serene as he fletches a pile of arrows for Allison’s bow, one after another, with inky black feathers._

_Allison strides towards him, lighter than air, floating above the yellow grass in a long white dress, her hair plaited in silver combs._

_“They’re ready. Good luck,” Chris says, and stands up. He leaves the arrows on the porch and when he disappears inside the house, leaving bloody boot-prints in his wake._

_Allison takes the arrows and slides them into her quiver. A howl sounds in the distance and Allison follows it, filtering through the fog like a ghost, her bow light as cotton in her hands._

_In a clearing, surrounded by ash trees, lies a wolf, a beautiful silver wolf with glowing bronze eyes, surrounded by bluebells and foxglove and big white mushrooms. It whimpers and howls again, rolling in the dry grass, and Allison moves forward, drawing an arrow and taking a deep breath._

_Close your eyes. Focus on the target. Feel it inside of you. Open your eyes._

_The wolf is gone, and it is Erica lying in the fairy ring._

_She arches her back in the grass, her heels digging in the dirt, and smiles up at Allison. Her body is bare and golden, her stomach soft and her breasts full. Her blond hair spills out across the earth, entangled in blue petals and ivy thistle._

_Allison can see that the insides of her thighs are slick, and Erica reaches between her legs and presses the tip of her finger against her clit, letting out a breathy half-moan. The heady, musky scent of arousal fills the air, lingering sweetly with the smell of lavender, honey, and pine on the wind._

_“Come in for the kill, Artemis,” she giggles, her eyes inviting and her teeth strong and white, showing no hint of pointed fang._

_Allison releases her arrow._

Allison awoke in a start, her skin soaked with sweat and her pajama pants dewy with a strange, sticky arousal that only came to her in deep dreams. She tiptoed to Lydia’s bathroom, changed into a pair of Lydia’s pajama pants, and crawled back into bed, her heart still pounding.

Lydia slept soundly beside her in the big king-sized bed and Allison hoped her dreams were clean and beautiful and completely free of arrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titled from "Arienette" by Bright Eyes, my go-to song for werewolf fics.


	7. Come Clean All Around Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I found something out about the alpha,” Lydia blurted, stopping mid-stride._

The only thing Allison was sure of in the following week was that she needed to tell Lydia what was going on.

Lydia had been to hell and back with werewolves. She was attacked and brainwashed by a former alpha who used her and manipulated her while keeping her ignorant of all the chaos around her—a complete violation of her own person, her own body. She ran naked through the woods for three days, smashed a mirror with her bare hand. And after it all, she saved her werewolf boyfriend’s life and stayed loyal to him until he had to leave.

Lydia paid her dues. Allison owed her honesty.

Early on a hot morning, Allison goaded Lydia into walking with her at the nature reserve again, much to Lydia’s chagrin. The summer heat spiked in the past twenty-four hours and Lydia’s idea of having a good time in 100 degree weather was to drink mojitos in the air-conditioned basement. She was especially miffed when Allison insisted she wear hiking boots rather than her favorite petal-pink strappy sandals (“Oh, shut up, these are _so_ waterproof!”) and she gave her a knife to tuck down the side in case they had any encounters. Lydia didn't fight her on that one.

They walked along the well-populated nature trails that sprawled through most of Beacon Hills, uninterrupted by lakes or fallen trees. It was just dirt and gravel covered by the shade of the bright leaves overhead, ferns brushing their legs and kids running and biking past them. It was the safest they could get in the forest—no boundary lines, no pack territory. 

“So…Lydia, you know you’re my best friend,” Allison started.

“And you’re mine,” Lydia said, her voice adamant.

“And I told you that I would never let anything happen to you after last semester, right?”

Lydia nodded. “Yes, and you've done a very good job of it. I haven’t woken one werewolf from the dead so far this summer.”

Allison rolled her eyes, but went on. “Well, I've been keeping something from you for the past two days, and I feel like shit about it. It’s just that I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, and…”

“I found something out about the alpha,” Lydia blurted, stopping mid-stride. Allison stopped next to her, and they both looked at each other with wide eyes.

Allison felt cold fear run down her back. “Oh my God, did she find you?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that, relax.” Lydia took a deep breath. “I've sort of been keeping something from you, too. For like two weeks now.”

Allison groaned. “Lydia, what the hell! We promised we would be honest with each other!”

Lydia shook her head and skipped forward on the path. “Nope, _you_ promised _me_ that you would be honest. I never made any such promise. Besides, I’m letting you in on it now. I was waiting for the right moment.”

“And now is the right moment?” Allison asked, jogging to keep up with her. “I was professing my loyalty to you! We were having a friendship moment!”

“Ugh, Allison, don’t get sentimental on me. I hate keeping things from you, but we’re not going to have a _moment_ over it.” Lydia slowed her pace. “What were you going to tell me, anyway? You sounded like you were sending me to the gallows.”

Allison shook her head. “Oh no, I don’t think so. Not until I figure out what the hell you've been doing for the past two weeks.”

Lydia groaned but pulled her cell phone out of her skirt pocket. “Fine, whatever. Anything to put an end to this alpha nonsense.” She paused for a moment, letting the phone ring. When someone answered on the other line, Lydia broke into a grin.

“Ms. Morrell? Yeah, it’s me. She knows.” Lydia hung up and smirked at Allison, all pink lips and pride. “She’ll pick us up on Main Street.”

“The guidance counselor?” Allison asked, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. She’d expected something much worse, like a half-werewolf fetus growing inside Lydia or that Jackson had turned into a giant poisonous turtle, or, god forbid, both.

“We solve crimes together,” Lydia said flippantly before grabbing Allison’s hand. “Come on, I bet she bought lattes, she does that all the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I didn't update this fic for a few days, mostly because I was so damn annoyed at how Erica was treated on the show, and writing this fic felt...macabre? Dismal, maybe? But then I was like fuck that, I'm seeing this one out, and I'm going to make it bad-ass and awesome. Chapter title from "Come Clean" by Eisley.


	8. Somewhere Between What You Need and What You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It isn't much yet, but this is our lab, Allison. Welcome.”_

Ms. Morrell drove a 1968 crimson Camaro with black stripes on the hood. Allison never had an eye for cars, but even she wanted to rub her body all along the candy-colored exterior.

“Nice to see you again, Allison. Why don’t you take shotgun?” Ms. Morrell tipped down her big white sunglasses and gave Allison a little wink and Allison practically melted into a puddle of arousal. She knew Ms. Morrell was gorgeous, but she’d never seen her sipping a latte behind the wheel of a beautiful car.

“I see I've been demoted,” Lydia huffed good-naturedly before climbing in the backseat, grabbing the coffee Ms. Morrell handed her.

Allison didn't know what to say, but Ms. Morrell didn't pause long enough for an awkward silence.

“Allison, Lydia and I have been working together for the past couple of weeks on some research that has to do with California werewolf packs. She’s an exceptional student.”

“Despite the shaky Latin, you’re not a bad teacher,” Lydia quipped, and Ms. Morrell laughed. 

_They’re like best friends_ , Allison thought with a twinge of jealousy.

Ms. Morrell continued. “After finding out Lydia is immune to all supernatural substances, I thought it would be best to arm her with all of the knowledge we have on werewolves and other supernatural beings. She’s truly an anomaly in the culture and an excellent addition to my team.”

“Who else is on your team?” Allison asked, taking a small, begrudging sip of her coffee.

Ms. Morrell looked sheepish. “Well, so far, it’s just Lydia and me. But we've only just begun.”

“You’ll love it, trust me,” Lydia said, leaning back on the black leather seats.

Ms. Morrell drove down onto Fourth Street and parked next to the curb in front of the Church of St. Genevieve, a century-old fading brownstone building with ferns growing at the edges and a giant stained-glass cross above the front door.

“Here we are,” Lydia said, opening her door.

“You've got to be kidding me,” Allison sighed. It made too much sense.

“It isn't what you’re thinking,” Lydia laughed. “It isn't some magical place where werewolves are banned from entering. What is this, a movie?”

“Sometimes I don’t know anymore,” Allison said as she got out of the car.

Ms. Morrell grabbed her keys and strode across the street, leading the girls to the church. Her high-heeled boots tapped merrily along the pavement. “This is a community church so technically anyone can use it for any activity they need space for. But Pastor David and I have done business together, so he’s given me a private room in the basement for the office.” She led them down the back stairs and though the basement door.

Allison never gave much thought to religion. Her family wasn't religious and Allison couldn't remember the last time she’d set foot in a church. She wondered briefly if she’d ever been inside one— _is this one of those things I've seen so many times in films that it starts to seem real_? But once they were inside, winding through a musty hallway pained in orange and mustard yellow with bile-colored floor tiles, it seemed way too familiar to have been an illusion. 

At the end of the hallway, a painted portrait of Jesus Christ hung on the wall in a delicate oak frame, right above a cracked porcelain drinking fountain. It gave Allison the creeps as they walked closer, but Ms. Morrell stopped halfway down the corridor at a pair of metal double doors and fished for her key.

“It isn't much yet, but this is our lab, Allison. Welcome.”

The room was about the size of Allison’s chemistry classroom and about three times as old. The walls were concrete, the ceiling was a low maze of pipes, and the floor was barely covered in a threadbare jewel-red rug. One the left side towards the center, a small dining table and chairs were set up in front of a freshly-cleaned blackboard. The table was piled with heavy books, pads of paper, a laptop covered in stickers for bike shops and organic food stores, and stained coffee mugs. More books were stacked on the floor next to the chairs.

On the right side, a black-topped lab bench was set up with a microscope and a sink. Three cupboards lined the wall above a cluttered counter top, bursting open with beakers, vials, petri dishes, pipettes, latex gloves, and labeled bottles of dyes and chemicals. 

The back wall boasted the obvious centerpiece of the room—a giant, floor-to-ceiling map of the United States, with a title that read in huge red letters, “Werewolf Packs Across the US.” Hundreds of dot stickers were plastered all along the map, from California to Maine to Washington to Florida. 

Allison let out a deep exhale. “So this is what you do during the summer, Ms. Morrell?”

Ms. Morrell laughed and led them inside the room. “Among other things, yes.”

“What do you guys do down here?”

“Ms. Morrell is working on a way to track large packs throughout the states that have a history of violence,” Lydia said, sitting at the rickety table. She motioned at the map on the wall. “The red dots are packs that have never left their territory. The blue are for packs that were displaced but have remained stagnant for over twenty-five years. The yellow are for travelling packs.” Lydia motioned at the map with her arms, her eyes bright. “Any circle with a black dot in the center is for a pack that has a history of fighting, biting unwilling humans, and senseless violence.”

“I think it will reduce tensions between werewolves and hunters if we do our part to keep fellow werewolves in check. It may sound like a bizarre concept, but werewolves are historically diplomatic with anyone who will cooperate with them,” explained Ms. Morrell.

Allison paused. “We? Are…are you…” Allison knew Ms. Morrell worked with werewolves, but she would have never guessed she was one herself. She smelled like the latte she was drinking, with a hint of fruity body spray and mint gum, and she seemed too relaxed. If Allison had realized one thing about werewolves, it was that they were extremely high-strung.

Ms. Morrell smiled, her face serene but a bit sad. “I’m not a werewolf. Dr. Deaton and I are human companions of werewolf packs. Some cultures call us Essentials, some just call us The Humans. But really, Deaton is a veterinarian and I’m a psychologist and we happen to work with werewolves.”

“Why?” Allison had so many questions for her, but she really just wanted to know why she’d put herself in all of the danger of pack life without the extra strength or super healing.

“For the same reason you’re a hunter. It’s a part of my history, Allison. My parents and my grandparents and my great-grandparents were all human companions.”

“How come you don’t just accept the bite?” 

Ms. Morrell took a moment before answering. “I suppose we could, if we wanted to. But that’s just not how it works. We have a role in the pack hierarchy, just like alphas and betas and omegas.” She looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead, she sat down and booted up her laptop.

“So…you and Lydia are…working with hunters?” Allison wondered if the hunters had simply abandoned her and oddly enough, she only felt relief.

“That’s where you come in. We’re independent of both the Beacon Hills hunters and Derek’s pack right now, but we need more information before forming an official alliance with anyone.” She turned her laptop to Allison.

A clear picture of Anna Conliffe showed on the screen. 

It was a mug-shot from Olympia, Washington and her name was blacked out with censorship stripes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Heaven Can Wait" by Charlotte Gainsbourg and Beck. Sorry the updating has been piecemeal these days. I actually have the majority of this fic written, I'm just hesitant to post parts of it because Season 3 might throw this fic from "not canon" to "totally weird" territory really fast. But I'm still writing!
> 
> Also, I borrowed the alternate name for human companions to werewolves (Essentials) from the novel "Full Blooded" by Amanda Carlson. Here is a link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11823873-full-blooded?ac=1. The series is about a total bad-ass lady who founds out she is the only female werewolf in the history of the species (however, it is _not_ the series Lydia was reading earlier in the fic). I highly recommend it!


	9. Taking This One to the Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Lydia, are you pimping me out to the local werewolf pack?”_

“Is this the alpha you saw at the store?” Ms. Morrell asked as Allison stared at the picture, practically smelling the woman’s cheerful malice.

Allison nodded. “That’s definitely her. I can’t believe you guys found her.”

“We've had our eye on her for the past two weeks. Anna Conliffe has come up in more pack photographs, microfiche slides, mug shots, and newspaper photos than any other werewolf we've seen. She’s been involved in everything from arson to kidnapping, crimes that are often done by men. But we know absolutely nothing about her.”

“Where is she from? Has she been in multiple packs?”

Ms. Morrell threw up her hands in defeat. “We have no idea. We couldn't even confirm a name until you told Lydia that you’d seen her at the store. Lydia had a pretty strong hunch, and I trust her instincts.”

“But you said you've seen her in articles.”

“We have. But we've seen Gwen Black, Kitty Talbot, Elena Herveaux, Jane Greyback…she uses a different alias in every town. And for whatever reason, she hasn't been caught. She’s arrested, booked, and then…nothing. She disappears and there are no release records or police reports. She’s a mastermind at covering her tracks.”

Allison’s frustration was mounting. “But Erica said she was close to her pack, she has a partner and betas and…” 

Her face flushed red as she realized what she’d said.

Lydia looked up from her notes. “Wait, Erica is back? Since when?” She was giving Allison that face, that face, the one that said _I’m quite upset but I don’t feel like rocking the boat right now_.

Allison _hated_ that face.

But before Allison could answer, Ms. Morrell said, “Allison, is Erica involved with Anna Conliffe? I have an obligation to tell Derek if you think Erica is in danger.”

Allison felt panic rising in her throat. She promised Erica she wouldn't tell anyone about Anna Conliffe and then she told two people who were working to eliminate violent werewolves. And on principle, Ms. Morrell wouldn't ignore the issue of a minor involved with a possibly violent adult, especially if that minor was still listed as missing.

“She asked me to keep it a secret. She feels really sad and guilty right now, and she didn't want to cause more trouble with the rest of the pack. But Derek knows everything she knows, I promise.”

Ms. Morrell didn't look convinced. “What does Erica know? What did she tell you?”

Feeling a major pang of guilt, Allison told them about Erica leaving Derek’s pack and finding refuge with Conliffe’s pack in San Francisco. She told them about the betas and about Anna’s mysterious partner Kessler. “There’s also this weird drug…lycanite. Anna Conliffe created it.”

Ms. Morrell crinkled her eyebrows in confusion. “A manufactured werewolf drug? I've never heard of anything like that.”

“Erica brought some back with her. It looks like it has wolfsbane in it, and maybe lavender, or a flower with a strong smell.”

Ms. Morrell and Lydia exchanged a look before Ms. Morrell laced her fingers together and asked Allison, “Have you been spending a significant amount of time with Erica lately?”

“Not really. I've only seen her twice.”

“I think it would be best if Lydia and I took a look at lycanite in the lab. We could possibly trace the ingredients to regions in the country or maybe to crimes committed by werewolves.” Her face was unsettled, the set of her shoulders uneasy. “It doesn't matter if you’re a human or a werewolf. I don’t want Erica getting tangled up in drugs.”

Allison nodded in agreement, remembering Erica’s gaunt face and scratched arms. “What do you want me to do?”

“Get a sample of lycanite from Erica and bring it here. If I find anything suspicious, I’m going to Derek right away.”

“I’ll try to get it as soon as possible.” The thought of going back to Erica’s bright, pretty bedroom in her sharp-smelling home made Allison feel warm and relaxed, unlike when she thought of her own home.

Ms. Morrell’s cell buzzed in her pocket and as she answered it, Lydia scooted her chair closer to Allison’s.

“Why didn't you tell me you've been talking to Erica? It’s not like I’d be weirded out by it. I kissed Jackson on the regular and I don’t find him all that repulsive.”

Allison realized Lydia thought it was a werewolf issue rather than a best friend issue. The thought hadn't struck her before—Lydia didn't really know the whole story behind the way Allison tortured Boyd and Erica. She thought Allison avoided them simply because they were werewolves and she was a hunter, not because she’d hurt them. It made her heart ache that Lydia pushed everything else aside—the fact that Erica had been missing, the secret meetings—and focused only on what Allison was feeling.

“I saw her at the library and then I told her about the alpha in case Derek knew something. We've only seen each other twice.”

Lydia mulled the information over, not exactly offended but not completely appeased. “She’d be a valuable ally to our research. You should probably work on getting closer to her.”

Allison laughed. “Lydia, are you pimping me out to the local werewolf pack?”

Lydia smiled, free of shame. “Think of it as a business deal. You gain a friend and we all gain our first werewolf ally. She can soften Derek up before we present him with our plan.”

Allison’s smile faltered. “I don’t know if that’s a great idea. I probably shouldn't cause any tension with the pack. I don’t have the greatest track record right now.” _I’m practically public enemy number one_.

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Allison, does anyone else know Erica is back?”

Allison let out a sigh. “Just Derek and me. And now you and Ms. Morrell. Lydia, please don’t tell anyone else about this. I already fucked her over by telling you guys, and the last thing I need is another reason for the Hale pack to distrust me.”

Lydia’s face flushed a little. “Jesus, Allison, thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt here. We’re just trying to help.”

_She’s right_ , Allison thought. _They’re down here in a basement working their asses off to protect people they don’t even like and here I am, worried about myself_. She sighed. “You’re right, I’m sorry. This is just…this is not how I pictured this summer would end up.”

Lydia wrapped a reassuring arm around Allison’s shoulders, enveloping her in a cloud of sweet perfume and a curtain of strawberry-blond hair. “I know, buddy. But everything will be alright. I mean, come on. It’s me you’re talking to. I get shit done.”

Allison nodded in wholehearted agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Secret" by the Pierces, because I am apparently exhausting my collection of female pop music cliches with this fic.


	10. Laying Down in the Devil's Lair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Possible dub/con, underage drug use--details at the end of the chapter

Allison stood on Erica’s front porch again, hands clasped in front of her body, wondering for the hundredth time if she was making the right decision.

Erica opened the door, wearing the same pajamas she wore last time. She looked surprised, but soon masked it with a smile. “I wasn't expecting you back here.”

Allison swallowed hard, hoping Erica couldn't smell her anxiety. “I want to try it.”

Erica’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion, but it didn't take her more than a second to figure it out. She immediately shut down, wrapping her scabbed arms around herself. “You’re insane. Give me one reason why that would ever be a good idea.”

Allison tried to shake the knot in her stomach that told her not to lie, to tell Erica the truth, to admit to her she was being investigated. But Mr. Morrell and Lydia had a lot riding on the cooperation of both the werewolves and the hunters, and Allison couldn't reveal them before they were ready.

“You said that it was more intense than anything you’d ever done before,” Allison said, holding Erica’s cold gaze. “I want to feel like that. I need to feel like that.”

“Lycanite makes me feel like that because I’m a werewolf. I have no clue what it would do to a human, and I’m not getting in trouble because of you,” Erica said adamantly.

Allison wracked her brain, searching for an excuse, something to soften Erica enough for Allison to just get close to the drug and grab enough to bring back to the lab. But before she could say anything, Erica looked away.

“I thought you just wanted to be friends with me. I thought you hated the werewolf stuff,” she said, hiccuping away her tears. “I get so sick of being like this, with the secrets and the pack fighting, and…”

Allison took Erica’s arm and led her to the top porch step, instantly falling into the protective mode being a hunter ingrained in her. She wrapped an arm around Erica’s thin shoulders, stroking her hair; putting her body close to Erica’s to share her warmth. 

“I thought being a werewolf would make me feel close to people for once,” Erica said, working hard to calm herself down. “But it only causes more problems.”

Allison’s chest ached with shame, that stupid feeling that she kept falling into ever since screwing herself over last semester. _I keep fucking it up. All I do is fuck up._

“I didn't come here to buy drugs from you,” Allison said softly, brushing Erica’s thin hair away from her face. “I didn't come here to talk about werewolves, either.”

Erica looked over at her, eyes still cool and distrusting. “Then why are you here?”

Allison took a deep breath. _I’m a terrible person who does terrible things_. “I wanted to see you. I worry about you. You look so sick and skinny, and now that the alpha is in town…”

A small smile played on Erica’s lips. “You’re looking out for me.”

Allison nodded, trying to mask the smell of her guilt with the warm aura of comfort. “Being a hunter isn't all bad. We protect, too.”

They sat together on the front porch for a while, bare summer thigh touching bare summer thigh, looking out across the street to the neighbor’s backyard. Allison figured that if she stared deep enough into the woods, putting all of her concentration into looking at nothing, the guilt would go away.

“That’s where I go now,” Erica said softly.

“What?”

Erica pointed at the dense forest. “During the full moons. Anna helped me master control. She was amazing during the full moons—so calm and collected. She never lost herself.”

That note of sadness was back, but Allison didn't respond.

“It helps you feel closer to people,” Erica said after a moment of silence. 

Allison knew she wasn't talking about the trees anymore. “What else does it do?”

“Relaxes you. Makes you feel warm all over. Makes you feel like you can conquer the world. It makes you feel like every person you meet is your best friend.”

Allison nodded. “Sounds perfect for people who are…” 

“High-strung?” Erica finished with a smile. “Exactly. But it isn't like other drugs. Other drugs get burned up by our blood, we can’t retain a high on anything else.”

“It sounds like an escape,” Allison said, finally understanding the appeal of Lycanite to a person like Erica.

Erica nodded, and in a surprising but not unwelcome move, took Allison’s hand in hers. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Allison sat completely still, stunned, swallowing hard. _Why am I not saying no?_ “Erica…do you—is this…”

Erica laughed. “No, I’m not propositioning you. But your heartbeat tells me you wouldn't mind.”

It was Allison’s turn to blush red, and she didn't even bother to hide it as she laughed. “You have this effect on everyone. I just never…”

Erica shrugged. “It’s alright. You don’t have to explain anything to me.” She held out her hand to Allison and waggled her eyebrows. “But you are going to come upstairs.”

Allison grasped her hand, even though she had no idea what Erica had planned. “Why are we going upstairs?”

“If you’re going to try it, you’ll try it with me.”

“You want to try it now? Here?” That wasn't part of Allison’s plan. She’d never done drugs before—daddy’s little girl might roll around with her boyfriend or steal a sip of beer at a party, but she didn't go out of her way to get into trouble. She didn't actually want to try Lycanite, she just needed a sample.

But Erica looked down at her eagerly, her eyes still a bit glassy, like she was reaching desperately for some kind of companionship. “You should do it with someone who’s done it before.”

So Allison nodded and followed Erica up the stairs, refusing to look back.

*

Allison sat across from Erica on Erica’s bed, both girls cross-legged, and Erica passed the rolled-up Lycanite to Allison after taking a small hit.

“Only a little, okay? If something happens to you, your dad will come for me first,” Erica said, only sort of joking.

Allison nodded and inhaled, coughing a little, her eyes watering. It tasted like aspartame. Erica giggled and clapped like a schoolgirl. “There you go!”

At first, nothing happened.

“What does it feel like for you?” Allison asked, looking around Erica’s bedroom.

Erica shrugged. “Nothing yet. It’ll come.”

They sat and waited. Erica picked at a fuzz on her comforter. They sat and looked around, anywhere but each other, exchanging small smiles when they accidentally made eye contact.

Then, slowly, things got weird.

The pink flower pattern on Erica’s shirt was suddenly a blinding hot-pink police siren in the dim bedroom, the bright hues straining against Allison’s eyes like poppies. The blue plastic cup on Erica’s bedside table turned into a molten sapphire, glinting and sparkling on the flat surface. Allison blinked furiously, rubbing her eyes with stiff fingers, but the colors kept blaring.

“How are you feeling?” Erica asked, her kind smile suddenly foxlike and dangerous.

Allison blinked again, afraid to open her mouth, wondering what her words could possibly sound like.

“I asked,” Erica said again, “ _how are you feeling?_ ”

A balloon popped in Allison’s mind, spraying spit and stale air throughout the room, and suddenly Erica’s voice was a crooning jazz singer on the radio.

“ _Howwww are youuu feeee-ling_?” Her voice seemed to lilt and waver beautifully, as clear as diamonds.

There was no noise in the room but Allison suddenly heard everything. The trash can being dragged down the sidewalk across the street was like nails on a chalkboard; Erica’s dog snoring on the floor was a dragon waking up from a bad dream. She wondered briefly in agony what it would be like to hear her own voice; she wondered if it would sound like the devil himself. _It would sound like Peter Hale dragging Lydia down the field, it would sound like Kate’s body hitting the floor._

“Erica, I don’t…I don’t feel so good,” Allison whispered, too quiet for even a werewolf to hear. “Something bad is happening.” _I’m fucking up again._

Erica was covered in a sheen of sweat; she looked a million miles away. “Give it a second. You’ll be fine.”

Allison shook her head. She wanted to scream, she wanted her mother, everything was so _bright_ …

But then, Erica’s pajamas faded into a silky, dusty rose color. The blue cup bloomed into bunches of peonies and foxglove, right there on the night table. The trashcan became chiming bells and the snoring became humming violins. 

Suddenly, everything was _perfect_.

“What happened?” Allison asked slowly, her voice sounding foreign and delicious. 

Erica’s face was inches from hers, her breath like chocolate and her full lips like licorice, the danger in her smile melting into sweetness. “Come sit with me.”

Allison allowed Erica to grab her hand and pull her close until she was nearly in her lap. Allison didn't hesitate to snuggle into the warm cave of Erica’s body, craving the need for skin-to-skin touch like she craved a glass of water after a hot night of fevered sleep.

This is the girl who I shot full of arrows. This is the girl on the posters.

Allison and her father stopped hugging after her mother died. She’d always found comfort in the warm embraces of both her parents, in their strong, assured arms. She was so small when she was little so she was used to being cuddled and picked up, held close like a doll. But after everything that happened, she felt like an impostor receiving any kind of affection. She always felt so undeserving.

The warm embrace of Erica’s arms was like nothing Allison had ever felt. She had never experienced such physical intimacy with anyone, and every gentle stroke of Erica’s fingers across Allison’s hair or cheek or jaw made her want to sob with happiness. She wanted to clutch Erica’s fingers, wrap her entire body around them and be forever connected to this goddess of a woman. And that is what Erica was to Allison at that moment, when she looked up at her face- a goddess, a heroine. 

Persephone in the fairy ring.

_Come in for the kill, Artemis._

“Are you ashamed, Allison?” Erica asked, softly, running a firm hand down the slope of Allison’s spine. 

Allison’s teeth were chattering, even though she wasn't cold. “Yes, I am,” she answered confidently, looking Erica in the eye. It was like Erica knew the one question to ask, the one question that would send Allison’s bolted windows and doors flying open. Erica knew everything about her, she was brilliant, and she was the most compassionate human being on the face of Allison’s tiny earth.

“Tell me about your mother, Allison,” said Erica, her eyes alight with true concern and interest. Nobody, nobody, had ever looked at Allison like that before, like Allison was a person who may actually have something to say.

A film reel whirred to life in Allison’s mind. She didn't start it and she couldn't stop it.

Wolves. Wolves in a forest against a purple and white marble sky. A big red wolf with fierce green eyes and a grey-blond wolf standing proudly above a cub—a toothless dark brown baby, rolling merrily in the dirt.

Allison knew the big red one was her mother, the grey one was her father, and the small, sickly-looking black one was her. She'd never had this dream before; she'd never seen such a beautiful and haunting sight, but she just knew. She was with her mother again. 

"My mother loved her family," Allison said, the words forming themselves carefully. It was like her heart knew what to say and her mind was just helping her along, forming the words while her emotions and memories carried the message to Erica. Allison’s body was a blissful endless conveyor belt of luxurious memories, each one sweet and purple and fruity on her tongue. They flowed one after the other, bringing tears to Allison’s eyes.

_My mother helping me make a quilt for my bed so I’d always have something familiar whenever we moved._

_My mother teaching me how to throw a haymaker to knock out the bully in my second grade classroom._

_My mother holding me, kissing me, being the only one who could make things better._

_My mother being cruel and cold and ruthless to Scott, to the only boy I've ever loved._

Mother Wolf curled her body around Allison’s tiny wolf body, licking her silken dark coat with a broad, wet tongue. 

"My mother loved me. She loved me, and she loved my father," Allison said, her voice thick with emotion. A tear rolled down Erica’s cheek and fell on Allison’s eyelashes, and for some reason, that was the most perfect thing that could have happened. Allison clung desperately to Erica, wanting to take in as much of her as humanly possible, wanting to bury herself in Erica’s scent like Allison Wolf clung to Mother Wolf.

She had never felt so many connections explode with light in her body—not only was she connected to Erica and to the memory of her mother; she was so connected to herself. 

For the first time in her life, Allison Argent was fucking flying.

“Is it always like this?” Allison asked, rolling over onto her back, tears rolling down her face. She relaxed into the cloud-like duvet, her muscles turning to liquid.

Erica smiled softly, serenely, and leaned down over Allison, her blond hair falling around Allison’s face like a gold velvet curtain. “Every time, sweetheart.”

And then she closed the gap between them, pressing her lips so gently against Allison’s it was like being kissed by a ghost. Allison kept her eyes open as she returned the kiss, still so gentle, a sweet _snick_ filling the room as they pulled apart.

When Erica leaned down again, Allison stalled her for a second, tracing Erica’s jaw and cheeks and tired eyes with her fingers.

“Persephone,” she whispered, the words light as air on her tongue.

“My Artemis,” Erica whispered back, and kissed her once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains underage drug use. The drug is fictional, but could have the same effects as hallucinogens or stimulants. Sex is implied between the characters using drugs, and some may see sex while taking drugs as non-consensual. Enthusiastic consent is not given, so if this is not okay for you, I'd skip this chapter.
> 
> Chapter title from "Baptized By Fire" by Spinnerette.


	11. Bad Little Girl, Rotten to the Core

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Allison opened the door to Ms. Morrell and Lydia’s lab, she cringed at the bright lights. “Here,” she said, tossing a plastic bag filled with lycanite onto Morrell’s desk. “I did what you asked, now let’s get started.” She took a seat across from Lydia and let her backpack drop to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've finally got my groove back with this fic! I have a few good chapters coming up. Thanks for sticking by me!

_Persephone._

The word rattled around in Allison’s mind and garbled in her mouth as she woke with a start, her eyes watering as she adjusted to the light of Erica’s bedside clock. It read 2:04 am—Allison had been at Erica’s since seven the night before.

She was naked except for her underwear and one of her socks, wrapped in Erica’s down comforter, which was making her overheat. Her mouth felt hot and thick, like she’d drink a gallon of water and still feel parched, and she was a little sore, but other than that, she felt like she’d gotten the best night’s sleep she had in months. Her muscles felt rested and her skin felt soft. She was almost relaxed until she looked over and saw a blond head peeking out from under the sheet and realized what she’d done.

Allison slowly sat upright on the edge of the bed and grabbed a half-full bottle of blue Gatorade from Erica’s night table, guzzling the whole thing. Her fingers felt sticky and smelled sweet (not _that_ kind of sweet, Allison thought with a stab of relief—they hadn’t gone _that_ far the night before), and there were dark purple ash flecks on the sheets. 

She gathered her shorts and tee shirt, heart pounding in her chest, and slipped into the small bathroom attached to Erica’s bedroom. She kept the light off and sat on the lip of the bathtub, pulling out her cell.

**To: Lydia**

_Are you going to be at the lab tmmrw?_

Lydia answered almost right away, despite the late hour.

**From: Lydia**

_Around noon, y?_

Allison didn’t respond, just put her phone on silent and dressed quietly. She had a bruise on the inside of her elbow and two small scratches on her stomach, but the thing that made her stomach drop was the red love bite right on the low curve of her left breast.

The very worst part was how good it felt upon remembering, the way Erica’s eyes blazed and the way her hair fell in a curtain as she sucked the mark onto Allison’s skin. She felt tears well in her eyes. Why couldn’t she just do things right for once? Why couldn’t she have the guts to kiss a girl because she liked her and thought was cool and brave rather than chickening out, smoking a weird drug, and kissing her in a haze? Allison had been many things over the past few months—she’d hurt people, she’d been angry, vengeful, bitter, devastated. 

But she’d never been a coward.

She slipped out of the bathroom and padded across Erica’s carpet, gathering her tennis shoes on the way. She couldn’t find her other sock. 

“You leaving?” Erica mumbled from below the covers, and Allison stilled in the doorway, heart racing.

“I should go home before my dad misses me,” Allison whispered, knowing full well that her dad thought she was at Lydia’s house as usual. “E-mail me, okay?”

Erica sat up. She was still wearing her tank top and underwear, and she looked soft and content in the moonlight. “Come here before you go.”

Allison licked her lips and made her way to Erica’s bed, stomach a ball of nerves. Erica leaned up and kissed her, gentle and chaste in the dark, hand warm against Allison’s neck. “I had fun last night. Lycanite makes it so intense.” She smiled into Allison’s lips. “I’ll definitely e-mail you.”

Allison nodded, not trusting herself to say anything, and ran the backs of her fingers down Erica’s smooth cheek before turning away and slipping out the door.

Allison liked biking in the dark when nobody else could get in her way, when the air was cooler. She had reflectors on her bike and she stayed on the sidewalk, so she wasn’t too nervous. And if a rogue werewolf wanted to come around and take a chomp out of her, she’d put up a hell of a fight. Her hands shook on the handle bars as she cool wind whipped her face, and she almost missed the turn to her neighborhood when she remembered the way Erica’s eyes blazed yellow as Allison’s breath sped up.

By the time Allison slid into her own bed, she was bone-tired but could barely sleep. The space felt cold and unfamiliar; she was lonely without Lydia’s form sleeping next to her.

She didn’t even belong on her own house anymore.

*

As Allison walked down the dank, mothball-smelling church hallway, she wondered what she’d say to her ultra-perceptive best friend. She wore the same outfit as the day before, her bra was stuffed in the side pocket of her backpack, and her hair looked like a cross between a bird’s nest and a hurricane.

When she opened the door to Ms. Morrell and Lydia’s lab, she cringed at the bright lights. “Here,” she said, tossing a plastic bag filled with lycanite onto Morrell’s desk. “I did what you asked, now let’s get started.” She took a seat across from Lydia and let her backpack drop to the floor.

A Bunsen burner huffed away on the lab counter, but the rest of the room was silent as Morrell and Lydia both stared at Allison, fingers poised in surprise over their keyboards and notebooks. Allison kept her head down and smelled the sweet stench of lycanite on the collar of her shirt.

“Allison, what the hell?” Lydia said, face twisted in something bordering on repulsion but edging more towards concern. “You look like you just got back from Lollapalooza.”

Morrell stood up and wandered towards the lab counter, knowing when she wasn’t welcome in a best-friends conversation. She snatched the bag of lycanite on her way.

Allison finally looked up, hair falling into her face, and Lydia flinched. “I really fucked it up, Lydia. I fucked it all up so bad, you don’t even know.” She rubbed her eyes, trying not to cry. She was sick of crying.

Lydia was quiet for a moment, sucking on her bottom lip. “It doesn’t take a werewolf to smell sex. I’ve worn it well, many times. Besides, you wore that shirt yesterday.” She took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair, tapping her pink nails against her notebook, which was scribbled with maps and charts. “I’m trying not to freak out right now, but Allison, if you had sex with Erica Reyes just to get this drug, I’m going to be super pissed.”

Allison couldn’t tell if she’d be pissed because she did that to Erica or because she did that in _general_.

Morrell looked up from the lab bench where she was examining the lycanite, mask over her mouth and hands encased in gloves. She pulled the mask away and her mouth was drawn in a grim line. “Okay, Allison, there’s only so much I can ignore. If that’s what happened, you need to tell me, because we’re obviously having some sort of miscommunication problem if this is how you went about getting lycanite for us.”

That only made Allison feel shittier—she knew how much Lydia and Morrell wanted lycanite, how close they were to getting somewhere with their pack research, but they never once made her feel like a pawn, like a means to an end. There was nobody to blame it on but herself. She just wanted to help, help her friends, help Erica, help _herself_.

_How did I fuck it up this badly?_

Before she could take a deep breath and calm herself ( _always crying for help, Allison_ ), her face crumpled and she burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.

Lydia was at her side in less than a second, her warm hands bracketing Allison’s shoulders, voice a gentle _shh shh_ that felt hot in Allison’s chest. “This is _so_ out of our league,” Lydia said, laughing without humor, rubbing her hands down Allison’s arms.

Morrell quietly grabbed a box of tissues from the lab cupboard and set them on the table, sitting across from them with her arms folded over her chest. Allison was almost comforted by her presence…sometimes, it was nice to have an adult around, someone who could possibly clean up her messes if they just got too messy to handle. She hadn’t felt more like a child in a long time.

“I didn’t do it for the lycanite,” Allison said, still crying. Her face reddened—she hated crying in front of people, even her best friend. “I swear, I didn’t. I think…” she sniffled, trying to catch her breath. “I think I did it _because_ of the lycanite.”

Lydia looked puzzled for a second before her mouth opened slightly in realization. “Oh, shit…oh, shit, Allison, you _didn’t_.”

Morrell closed her eyes, inhaling sharply through her nose, and Allison only cried harder. 

“I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry…now you guys are mad at me, and I probably hurt Erica even more than she’s already hurting.” All Allison did was apologize anymore; she didn’t remember what it felt like to not be remorseful.

Lydia buried her nose in Allison’s shoulder, nuzzling her like a kitten. It was a sweet gesture and so un-Lydia that Allison could only wrap her arm closer around her best friend and cry into her neck. “I’m not mad at you,” Lydia whispered, close to tears herself. “I’m mad _for_ you. This is too much. Too much for you, for us. I pulled you into this mess, and now I don’t know how to get you out of it.”

Morrell stood up. “This ends now, girls. No more sneaking around. No more trying to solve problems yourselves. If you have an issue involving werewolves, you come to me, and we’ll deal with it together.” She looked at Allison, eyes soft and sad. “What you did was reckless. I barely have an idea what that drug does to _werewolves_ , and then you go and try it yourself. And on top of that, it put you in a comprising situation with another person that neither of you were equipped to consent to. Do you understand how serious this is?”

Allison nodded, face still buried in Lydia’s neck.

Morrell sighed, hands on her hips, looking like her mind was in a million places at once. “Allison, I know this is the last thing you want to do, but I need you to tell me what you remember. How did it make you feel?”

Allison swallowed heavily, and Lydia looked up, hair mussed and eyes red but face undeniably curious. “It made me feel _amazing_ ,” she said softly. “Which is the scariest part.” She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, letting Lydia stroke a hand though her hair. “I remember it. I remember what we did, it’s not like I blacked out. And I remember what I felt…comforted, safe. Clear. But…” she trailed off, trying to recall the images of the night before, the haze, the beauty of the whole experience. “There were dreams. Wolves. A moon, maybe. I can’t remember that part.”

Morrell nodded, jotting down what Allison said on her notebook. “Do you feel sick?”

Allison shook her head. “No, it isn’t like getting drunk. I felt fine when I woke up.”

“Did you lose any time?”

Allison shrugged. “I don’t know when I fell asleep.”

Allison still didn’t know how she felt about the kiss, the touching, the amazing thing that happened between her and Erica in that safe little childhood bedroom. She didn’t know if it was her, them, the drug, a combination of everything. 

It made her head throb.

They all sat in silence for a moment, the basement chilly around them. Allison was starting to feel better about Lydia and Morrell—she knew they were there for her. They’d have her back, no matter how badly she fucked up. But she still had Erica. 

Erica, who she liked, truly liked. Pretty, insecure Erica who had a lot of anger and a lot of love to share, who Allison was dishonest with. She thought she’d chosen her team, and she wanted to help Lydia and Morrell do the right thing. She wanted to help them make the world (human, werewolf, whatever) a better place. 

But somehow, she still kept fucking it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Bad Little Girl" by Alana Grace


End file.
